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Bloodhounds

“They’re coming,” he whispers. 


At midnight I hear the howling. 

I can’t tell from where or how far.

It sounds like your voice. 


It wakes me from a dream.


Drifting between cycles with four-legged

Silhouettes blurred in my vision.

I close my eyes and he tells me to run. 

He says if we split up maybe we can split the pack

Maybe then we’ll have a chance.

I run, but fate's tampering hand holds me tight by the collar

And our paths converge again, back where we started.


We wait in the dark on a moonless night,

Softly he sings his requiem, tells me

How he lived with one foot in the grave 

And that dying wouldn’t change a thing.

That if we bled ourselves dry, burned our clothes and fled the city

They’d still find us.

We wait in the dark and i listen to the sound 

Of his breathing--a solemn countdown.


I tie a thread from his wrist to mine to stay tethered while he’s underground. 

He tightens the knots i made, tells me

Nothing stays buried forever.

Not really.

At midnight we hear the howling. 

It grows louder, closer.

“They’re coming,” he whispers.

We howl along with them.

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